reading lately. The writer says, "Were they planets revolving round the
sun, their arrival could hardly be more accurately calculated by the
astronomer.... The little birds are guided in their flight through the
waste, lone wilderness of the sky, and over wide seas, without a compass
or a map or a path, by His counsel and will. And they obey that guidance
without the slightest inclination to swerve from it or seek a way of their
own....
"Migratory birds passing from Africa to Europe over the sea, often alight
on ships bound in that direction. Not unfrequently ship-captains tell us
that they have seen birds of prey, hawks, and owls, appearing on the masts
on such occasions in the company of swallows, goldfinches, and chaffinches;
and yet the cruel birds never touched the innocent ones. The migratory
instinct seems to subdue for a season the predatory instinct."
I want to tell you more about swallows, and especially a true but sad
story of a tame one; but first we will speak of one more group, the
Swimming-birds. You may have often noticed a duck's foot, and seen how the
"web," or skin between the toes, can be folded up like a fan; or spread
out, when the bird is swimming; Geese, Swans, Sea-gulls, the beautiful
great Albatross, all these and a great many more of this family; they have
a kind of water-wing, which cleaves its way through the streams, and most
of them can also fly, although they are heavy birds. I have seen a flock of
grey geese sailing on the sea, and the same flock at sunset coming home by
a quicker way, looking like dark specks against the evening sky; but it is
only wild geese that will fly so far.
Now then, we have had five groups. Let us count them. Birds of Prey,
Perching birds, Scratching birds, Wading birds, Swimming birds, and I think
I must add one more; for the Passerine, or Sparrow group includes most
of the small birds, such as blackbirds and thrushes, nightingales and
swallows, larks and magpies, linnets and humming-birds, and I cannot tell
how many more "feathered fowl."
[Illustration: FISHING.]
Our story of a tame swallow must follow. There are four kinds of
swallows--the Swift, the Chimney-swallow, the House-martin, and the
Sand-martin; they all look much alike when on the wing, but there are
differences, especially in the sort of nest which they build. The
house-martin makes its nest of mud, lined with grass or feathers, against
the side of a house, and there lays its beautiful white eggs.
A pair of martins built their cosy nest one summer beneath the eaves of
a house in the country, just under the window of one of the bedrooms.
Swallows rear two broods every season, and one brood was reared
successfully in this nest, but the second was not so fortunate. Late in
September--and you know the swallows are off to Africa in October--a
servant found a poor little shivering bird on the steps. It was plain that
it had tried to fly from the nest, with its brothers and sisters, but had
not been strong enough. The poor birdie seemed almost dead when it was
picked up, but in the family there was a lady who loved "all things both
great and small," and she fed the tiny martin, and made a bed for it in a
work basket lined with wool. She was delighted when she saw it tuck its
head under its wing, puff out its little feathers, and settle itself to
sleep in her basket as cosily as if it had been at home in its parents'
nest, and she began to think that she might be able to keep this little
deserted bird in an English home while all the other swallows had gone over
sea for the winter.
I need not tell you that the little martin gave plenty of trouble and
anxiety in his rearing; but at last he got on so well that he was allowed
to go out in the garden, and sit upon his mistress's hand, while he feasted
on any spider, gnat, or fly which was caught for him. It must have been a
pretty sight to see the fondness of this pet bird for the kind friend who
had saved its life. He could not bear to be away from her, but would sit on
her shoulder while she was at work or writing, and sometimes nestle under
her chin; tiresome enough in his tricksy ways of pulling at her thread and
snatching at her paper, but still always borne with, because he was such a
pet.
One day when his mistress was going out for a long walk, and intended to
leave her bird behind, he insisted on going too. And go he did, perched
upon her finger; but on the way he became so clamorously hungry that she
had to take him into a butcher's shop, and get some meat for his dinner.
She often wondered how long he would stay with her. The swallows had not
yet gone; and sometimes he would look up and see crowds of them skimming
through the air, and darting about overhead. He would watch them, even call
to them and answer their wild cry, then sweep round the room in imitation
of their rapid flight; but always came back again to his old place on her
shoulder. At last, while there were still flies to be caught; be became
so grown up as to begin to catch them for himself, though he had had no
parent-bird to teach him; but still he was a tame swallow, liking to have
his head stroked, and enjoying his morning bath like any canary.
After all the wild swallows were off to Africa, the little tame martin
began to feel the cold. This wax what his mistress had been afraid would
happen, and she tried in every way to keep her pet warm. She wrapped him in
fur, and used to pack him warmly in a little box and take him to bed with
her; but she was soon awakened by his creeping out of the box, and nestling
under her chin. At sunrise he would career round and round her room, then
fly downstairs and begin to make himself very much at home at breakfast,
pecking at the butter, and standing upon the edges of the cups; but never
so busy as not to dart to his mistress at the sound of her voice. Indeed he
was so unhappy when away from her that she used even to take him railway
journeys, because she did not like to leave him behind. This way of
travelling, however, did not suit the little passenger-bird, for he was
always in a fright, and glad to get home again. But many a country walk he
took with his mistress, perched on her shoulder or her wrist, much to the
wonder of the country-folk, who used to crowd around and ask questions
about such a rare bird as a tame swallow. Sometimes they would shake their
heads and say, "Well, well; did ever anyone see the like? I'll never shoot
another swallow."
As the winter came, all these pleasant walks were over. The poor birdie
began to droop; it was impossible to keep him warm, though he often crept
under the parlour fender, to get as close to the fire as possible; and in
spite of all that loving care could do, before the end of the year his
bright little life had been lived, and all his clever tricks, and airy
flights and loving ways were over.
The lady missed her pet sorely; and next summer when the low twittering of
the swallows was heard again, as they came back to their old home to build
once more, she watched them at their work with many a thought of her lost
birdie.
This is why I said it was a sad story; but we must not forget that the lady
really saved the life of the poor bird, when it had fallen from the nest.
If she had stolen it away from its parents, and tried to keep it in our
cold country when they had gone to Africa, she would have blamed herself,
and felt that she had been the cause of its death. It is cruel to take
young birds from the nest, for it is a great grief to the parent-birds to
lose their little ones; and it is so difficult to rear them, that they are
almost sure to die, in spite of the great care you take of them. Some boys
are fond of collecting birds' eggs, and know a great deal about them. A
collection of eggs--of all sizes and of all shades of colour, from pure
white to bluish green, or speckled grey--is a pretty sight; but if you go
nesting, be careful not to spoil the beautiful little cradle which the
parent-birds have made with such labour and care. And if you take one, or
even two, eggs for your collection, be sure not to touch the others, or
it may be that the birds will desert them. I well remember the delight of
finding a robin's nest when I was a child; but my brothers and I were not
allowed to touch the eggs. We were told they did not belong to us, and this
certainly was nothing more than the truth.
It is beautiful to see God's care for all His creatures, especially the
helpless ones. When He was teaching His chosen people in the olden times
about things which are pleasing or displeasing to Him, He told them a good
deal about how they were to treat the animals. You would hardly expect to
find anything in the Bible about bird-nesting; and perhaps you might think
that if a boy found a nest with eggs or young birds in it, he might take
the young ones or the eggs, and if he chose he might take the mother-bird
also.
But God said--
"Thou shalt not take the dam with the young: thou shalt in anywise let the
dam go, and mayest take the young to thee, that it may be well with thee."
He who cares for the sparrow would not allow the mother-bird to suffer by
perhaps seeing her little ones die while she was shut up in a cage, too
fluttered and frightened to help them; and He would teach us to be merciful
and tender-hearted towards those who cannot defend themselves or plead
their own cause, "even as our Father in heaven is merciful."
I should like you to read in some nice book all about birds, a great deal
about their ways, and especially about the clever nests they build, of
which I have not time to tell you now. Also, I should like you to find
out all you can for yourself. You may at least learn to know by sight and
by sound some of our own songsters. It is often said that English birds
have sober plumage; and so they have, compared with the parrots and the
humming-birds that "flit about like living fires, scarce larger than a
bee," and the wonderful bird of paradise, which the natives of New Guinea
call "God's bird," because it shines with silver and gold--but still we
have some very gay birds.
It is true that the goldfinch and the kingfisher are not often seen except
in picture-books; but our own little robin is a real beauty, is he not? And
what can be gayer than the feathers of some of our cocks, which strut about
so proudly? Then, the more you notice the songs of birds, the more you will
admire them. The sweet notes begin before daylight in the spring-time, and
the cock-bird seems never tired of singing to his mate as she sits on her
eggs. By and by, when they are busy with family cares, feeding the little
ones, and teaching them to fly, there is not much time for singing. It is
said that every bird has a different note or call. I wonder how many you
know? I fancy I can guess: the cock, the rook, the swallow, the thrush, the
blackbird, the lark; if you do not know the notes or calls of all these,
try to learn them.
Then, with regard to the nests; have you not seen rooks and cranes carrying
in their mouths the twigs with which they build theirs in the top of very
high trees? And have you not watched these nests swinging about in the
wind, and wondered that they did not fall? Some of our birds build in holes
of trees, some line their nests beautifully with any soft thing they can
find; blackbirds and thrushes make theirs of mud. But instead of describing
how the nests of our English birds are made, I will copy for you, out of
Leslie's poetry-book, a little poem, which will help you to know where to
search for the nests of different birds:--
"The skylark's nest among the grass
And waving corn is found;
The robin's in a shady bank,
With oak-leaves strewed around.
"The wren builds in an ivied thorn
Or old and ruined wall,
The mossy nest so covered in
You scarce can see at all.
"The martins build their nests of clay
In rows beneath the eaves;
The silvery lichens, moss, and hair
The chaffinch interweaves.
"The cuckoo makes no nest at all,
But through the wood she strays.
Until she finds one snug and warm,
And there her eggs she lays.
"The sparrow has a nest of hay,
With feathers warmly lined;
The ringdove's careless nest of sticks
On lofty trees we find.
"Rooks build together in a wood,
And often disagree;
The owl will build beside a barn,
Or in a hollow tree.
"The blackbird's nest of grass and mud
On bush and bank is found;
The lapwing's darkly-spotted eggs
Are laid upon the ground.
"The magpie's nest is made with thorns,
In leafless tree or hedge;
The wild duck and the water hen
Build by the water's edge.
"Birds build their nests from year to year,
According to their kind;
Some very neat and beautiful,
Some simpler ones we find.
"The habits of each little bird,
And all its patient skill,
Are surely taught by God Himself,
And ordered by His will."
The other day I saw a lark's nest. It was made upon the ground; for it is
true that
"The bird which soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest."
and I had to move aside the grass before I could see it. The parent-birds,
I daresay, were somewhere near, but I found only the little ones, looking
as if they were almost all mouth, so widely did they open their yellow
beaks. If you find such a treasure, and are very careful not to touch, or
even to peer and peep too much, you may have the great interest of watching
over the rearing of the little family; seeing the parents bring them food,
and teach them to fly; and then, when the brood has flown, the deserted
nest will belong to you, if you choose to keep it; but I am afraid you
would not care for a lark's nest, for it is not beautifully finished, as
some birds' nests are, but really only the dry-grass lining of a hole in
the ground. The eggs are brown, like the bird itself, which is so beautiful
in its song--that lovely song which you can hear even when you can hardly
see the tiny singer.
"Far in the downy cloud,"
or but a speck in the deep blue; for the lark will
"Soar up and up, quivering for very joy,"
singing all the time, till he is out of sight--yet never forget that low
spot, hidden with grass, where his nest is.
You know why it is said that "the cuckoo builds no nest at all," don't you?
May has a verse which calls him "a most conceited bird," because from the
time when he comes back from Africa we hear him constantly calling his own
name, 'coo-coo, coo-coo!' Still, I don't think the cuckoo should be called
"conceited" when it is we who have given it its name from the call which
is natural to it; but it is a most unfaithful bird, and leaves its little
ones to be brought up by others, not taking the trouble to build a cradle
for them, nor will the mother sit upon her eggs. I used to think the
reason why we saw so few cuckoos was because this bird laid only one egg;
but I have read that she lays eight, each one in the nest of some bird
much smaller than herself. The cuckoo is grey, and about the size of a
blackbird; but her eggs are small, not bigger than a hedge-sparrow's or a
lark's. She lays her egg on the ground, and then lifts it with her bill
into the nest which she has chosen. The stranger bird is hatched first, and
always behaves as if the whole nest belonged to him. He grows bigger and
bigger, until at last he throws the little sparrows over the side of the
nest to make room for himself. When the "woolly bears "--the caterpillars
on which they feed--are all gone the cuckoos fly off to find them in South
Africa.
How different from this bird is the faithful dove, who would not desert her
little one, even to save her own life! I must tell you the story of the
particular dove of which I am thinking.
When the famous city of Pompeii--which had lain for eighteen hundred years
buried beneath the ashes and mud which fell upon it during a terrible
eruption of Mount Vesuvius--was brought to light again, as the workmen were
digging among the ruins of what had been a beautiful house, in a niche
overlooking the garden they found the skeleton of a dove. They were not
surprised that, as the sky grew darker and darker upon that dreadful day,
and the soft, choking shower of ashes fell more thickly, many of those who
ran for their lives should have lost their way in the darkness, and fallen
to rise no mare. The skeletons of men and women had been found, just as
they had fallen while trying to escape; but this dove, with her swift
wings, why did she not flee away? Ah, as they lifted her from her nest
the secret was revealed: beneath her lay the egg which the timid, gentle
creature, so brave in her love and faithfulness, would not leave.
If you ask me about fossil-birds, I must tell you that very few have been
found. However, if you go to the British Museum, look out for a large stone
slab covered with footprints of birds. It was taken from a quarry in an
American valley, and is a piece of sandstone, which was once soft enough
to receive the impress of the feet of the giant wading-bird, probably much
larger than an ostrich, which once walked across it with long strides. You
will also trace upon it the tracks of smaller birds. In New Zealand very
large bones of an extinct bird have been found, but the most remarkable
remains have been discovered in Germany of a bird which has been given the
name of "Lizard-tailed," because it has a tail with vertebræ, from each
joint of which feathers spring. Three claws are attached to the ends of the
wing-bones, like the single claw of the bat. What is left of this specimen,
which is thought to have been about the size of a rook, is to be seen in
the Natural History branch of the South Kensington Museum. I mention this
in case you should have a chance of visiting it there.
And now, to speak of those birds which we know best, I think there are
none which seem to belong to us so much as these three--the thrush, the
blackbird, and the robin; for they are with us all the year. The thrush
begins to sing very early, before there are any leaves for him to hide
himself among, while the robin's song is heard not only in autumn, but in
winter when all others are silent. All these birds feed upon worms and
insects, not on grain and fruit like the larks and finches and starlings;
but they are very glad of berries in winter when they can get them.
The other day I met a little boy about seven years old carrying a basket
with some dozen snails in the bottom of it, and looking as if he had found
a wonderful prize.
"What are you going to do with them?" I said.
"Give them to our thrush. He cracks the shells and eats them, he does."
"Does your thrush sing?" I asked.
"Oh, yes!" he replied. "You can hear him all over the house."
The song of even a captive thrush is sweet indeed; but I would rather hear
its voice in a choir of birds singing in the woods.
The blackbird's clear note, like the thrush's, may be heard very early in
the morning, and on still evenings, as it "sings darkling" in some leafy
bower. Its eggs are bluish green, with dark spots, while the thrush's five
eggs are light blue. There are white blackbirds--if such a thing can be--in
the Alps, and occasionally in this country; with us you may know the cock
by its being very black, while the hen is brownish-black, and I think both
birds are best known by the "orange tawny" bill. But neither the blackbird
nor the thrush is so pretty as the "little bird with bosom red" of which we
are all so fond.
"Our thrushes now are silent,
Our swallows flown away;
But robin's here in coat of brown,
And scarlet breast-knot gay."
Some time ago I was reading the account which a boy, who had always lived
in town, gave of his first sight of a robin-redbreast. His master told him
to write for his composition all about a holiday which the boys had had
given them, so he gave an account of how he had gone for a long day in
the country with his father and his little sister. Of all the sights he
saw that day, none delighted him so much as to see a robin perched upon a
clothes'-prop in a garden--for this bird always likes a high perch--singing
with all his might and "showing all his red." This boy had read about
robins at school, and learnt verses about them; but when he actually
saw one, and heard it sing, he says it made him "tremble all over with
pleasure."
A lady, who has told many interesting stories about what she has herself
observed, says that one day her gardener was struck by the strange conduct
of a robin, which the man had often fed. "The bird fluttered about him in
so strange a manner, now coming close, then hurrying away, always in the
same direction, that the gardener followed, its retreating movements. The
robin stopped near a flowerpot and fluttered over it in great agitation.
It was soon found that a nest had been formed in the pot, and contained
several young. Close by was a snake, intent, doubtless, upon making a meal
of the brood."
This little story seems to show that the redbreast understood that the man
who had been so kind was not only good enough but also strong enough to
save his little ones from the danger which threatened them. Can you learn
any lesson from it?
I have not time to tell you of all the feathered creatures mentioned in
the Bible, which were found and written down for me in those nice little
three-cornered notes, some of which I still have. You will not be surprised
to hear that each contained one reference, and some many more; but the text
about which we had most talk was found by Chris--those words spoken by the
Lord to His disciples to show how precious they were to their Father: "Fear
not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows"
The boys wanted to know whether these birds were the same as our sparrows,
which are so common everywhere, even in the busy streets London, and so
mischievous in the country, eating the grain, and stealing the peas, and
nipping off the young buds of the gooseberry-bushes.
[Illustration: Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When winter's winds are sobbing.]
I could not answer this question; so we got the Bible Dictionary and read
there that a great many of our smaller birds, such as the starling, linnet,
goldfinch, blackbird, lark, wagtail, and thrush, are found in Palestine,
and that the Tree-sparrow has been seen in great numbers on Mount Olivet;
while another kind, the Rock-sparrow, is often found perched upon a large
stone, all alone, like the solitary bird mentioned in the hundred and
second Psalm.
One, of whose work among the poor of Lancashire you may some day hear,
tells us that when he was on a visit to America in 1873, he strolled one
morning round a miniature park in New York, glad to find shelter from the
hot beams of the sun. Looking up, he saw a great many boxes fastened,
some to the stems, some to the branches of the trees. Surprised at this,
he asked a gentleman on one of the seats, "What is the meaning of those
boxes suspended up there?" and he was told that twelve years before, not
a single leaf was to be found upon any of those trees, now so full of
beautiful foliage. At that time, a small grub called the inch-worm had the
disagreeable habit of breeding in the bark, climbing up the boughs and
stripping them of every leaf. Thus it was in the orchards, gardens, and
parks in many States of the Union.
At length a thinking man who kept his eyes open, suggested a remedy--to
import several thousands of English sparrows, providing them with little
wooden houses, and feeding them daily until they were settled in, and
contented with their new home. Thousands of beautiful little boxes were
volunteered and fixed in the trees, and thousands of young sparrows
were brought over. A State law was passed inflicting a penalty of one
dollar--nearly five shillings--or a week's imprisonment, on any person who
killed one; and most happy was the result. The inch-worm was destroyed, the
trees became healthy and green, and now the spirited little English birds
hop and chirp in every garden and park in the Union!
[Illustration: "ONLY A LITTLE SPARROW."]
A restless little House-sparrow would seem an unlikely bird to become tame,
but I have heard of one which was rescued, having fallen from his nest, and
lived for two years on the happiest terms with his master, who says of his
pet bird; "He was only confined to his cage during the morning: from midday
until the next morning he was free to go about the house, but was of course
mostly kept to one room. He always slept at the foot of my bed, and as soon
as it was daylight he would come up and creep into my arms, and nestle
there till I rose.... I fed him on seed and sand, but he had food with me
besides, such as a little potato at dinner-time, and bread and butter at
tea-time."
Does this account of a tame sparrow encourage you to try to attach one
of these little birds to yourself? I am afraid it would not be possible
unless, as in the case of this birdie, it was one taken from the nest.